Dancing
by Rowana S
Summary: Kel and Joren (who, yes, isn't dead) are trapped in the dungeon of one Scanran dictator. What to do with a few minutes of life and one silly bet at your disposal? Why, learn to dance. Random one-shot. Imagination needed.


_I just couldn't stay away. Angst, depression, unsuitable humour, much OOC-ness, and possible bad grammar in some places are just some of the many things that are wrong with this piece. It's also apparently been done before, according to my beta, but we won't talk about that. Randomness. It asked to be written._

* * *

The cell door slammed shut, unsettling a small dust cloud which rose, writhing in the air, filtering the tiny amount of stark light down to a watery grey. 

The silence was heavy after the noisy journey. From the dark shadows of a single corner, a vague figure shifted from the floor, lifting a hand to examine the sticky substance seeping through the bandage around its head. For a time, the sound of the cloth rustling and the occasional hiss of pain as a tender spot was pressed too hard were the only sounds filling the humid air. The scent of blood hung about, almost painfully tangible.

Finally, she wiped the soiled hand against her thick breeches and leant backwards, seeking a more comfortable position against the wall. She spoke to her silent, still cellmate, voice tight with emotion.

"I know what you're thinking"

"Oh?" The word was laden with affected indifference.

"Yes, I do." Kel replied sharply, the nature of their impending future taking its toll already by robbing her of her control. It didn't matter now, it had all been a waste. Kel felt that she deserved a few hours of completely irrational behaviour.

There were a few seconds of silence as Kel watched him expectantly. Joren tried ignoring her for a few seconds, but found it impossible, due to the nature of her slightly frightening stare. He decided to humour her. A month of working together and he was already going soft.

"And…" He said, gesturing expectantly, lazily, though he knew what she was going to say.

"And I'm sorry."

"That's nice."

"Because I was wrong." Kel continued, undeterred, "And we shouldn't have trusted anyone."

"What was your first clue?" Joren asked, voice thick with sarcasm as he looked pointedly around the cell, at the four walls keeping them in. He was surprised with himself. He could only imagine that the gravity of the situation was affecting him, he hadn't needed a scapegoat for years.

Kel didn't answer. Guilt was welling up again to add to the lump in her throat. She couldn't say anything, because she knew, as everyone does, what was to come after the dank inescapable cell. She refrained from pointing out that he wasn't entirely blameless, knowing that he already understood it far better than she could ever make him.

Joren sighed, his head dropping back to rest with a clunk on the stone wall, back curving with weariness.

"I'm happy for you Mindelan, really I am." He said, needing a vessel for his anger, "But after that beating, I do hope you'll excuse my rudeness in going to sleep."

Kel sat, brooding, as Joren slept. She watched him shivering and stood, hesitantly, to cross the cell and drape her black cloak over him. Even without it she was wearing more layers than he. Trying to muster the courage to sit beside him and share precious body heat, she paused, and failed, crossing the room again to her corner. Once morning came, it wouldn't matter anyway.

* * *

It was hours before Kel woke again. She had no idea of the time, the cell was still dark. Joren had melted into the shadow in his corner, lying still, fast asleep. Kel shifted, trying to turn the cold stone into soft linen and feather, to delude her body at least. No luck. She wouldn't be able to sleep again. There was nothing she could do except sit and gaze at the high window, the flat stone walls, and wish that the builders had decided to give prisoners a sporting chance by building in a hidden door, or a loose stone…something. 

Ridiculous thoughts. She gave herself over to more serious pondering. What was Neal doing? How were Yuki and the baby, her little godsdaughter? Had Dom been promoted yet? Had Owen proposed yet? No letters had reached her for weeks, nor could they have been expected to, in the middle of Scanra. They'd be sitting in a fort on the border now in storage, awaiting her return.

A little moonlight was gracing their cell now. From the single high window it fell, covering everything in a soft silver glow. Joren grunted and shifted in his sleep, turning his head away from the brightness. Kel watched him silently as her thoughts turned.

It had taken years for their relationship to even resemble anything which could be loosely termed mutual respect. In the end though, all childish squabbles were laid to rest.

The Chamber of the Ordeal forced squires to bend, or broke them and left them as a shadow of what they had once been. Once a squire had faced the ordeal, it was as if the habit of a lifetime overtook them, the world looked different, many stronger convictions disappeared, and they realised that they had finally finished growing up.

It was time to do the work of adults, and live in the world of adults, and there was no room for childishness in those who wanted to succeed.

This…'holiday' in Scanra was supposed to have been a break from field work. Kel had broken a few ribs in battle just over a month ago. Joren had been leaving, she'd been ordered to join him. Her friends had joked about when she would return to get back to the real work.

"We're not going back." Kel said suddenly. The words drifted into the still air, and hung there.

Joren shifted slightly, so that he would consider her sleepily from half closed eyes. Kel pressed back against the wall, embarrassed to know that he was awake.

"You know what the worst of all this is?" He asked, gesturing around them vaguely, not bothering to sit up, or hide his gaze.

"What?" Kel replied, slightly curious. Joren was behaving in an informal way that she was completely unfamiliar with. Gone was his inflected drawl and stiff pose.

"I'll never get to tell Wyldon 'I told you so'. Holiday indeed."

Kel's mouth quirked. "You never know. Perhaps there's a loose panel somewhere. Or a spoon."

"How on Earth could a spoon help us?" Joren asked, sounding genuinely curious. Kel shrugged.

"It happens all the time in the stories I read to my nephews and nieces. We could tunnel our way out." She supplied, adding to the slightly surreal mood.

"With a spoon?"

"A sharp spoon. Use your imagination." Kel answered, now slightly exasperated.

"I hate to think what you'd have to have been eating to have a sharp spoon on you." Joren mused, either not realising how ridiculous he sounded, or not caring either way. Kel would have worried at the breach from his usual character, except she could hear the note of desperation in his voice. Keep talking…say anything…to keep us from thinking about the morning.

"I disagree." She said, taking pity on him, and because talking was helping to loosen the tight knot of fear in her own gut. "The worst of this is that I'll lose my bet with Neal."

"Which was?" He asked obligingly.

"That I'd learn to dance if it was the last thing I did."

There was a brief pause as Joren considered.

"I've never seen you dance."

Kel smiled briefly at him.

"Be thankful for that."She advised, "It isn't a pretty sight, I assure you."

Another quiet pause. As it lengthened, Kel realised that he'd fallen asleep again.

She tried to make herself comfortable. It was fruitless, but she thought that she might be able to sleep again anyway.

* * *

The first pale rays of sunlight were falling from the window when Kel woke again. Joren was pacing up and down the short length of the cell. He glanced at her as she stretched. 

"We don't have much time." He said, quite calmly, walking to her and offering her a hand. "It's dawn."

Kel listened carefully, and indeed, the sounds of early morning activity were beginning to filter through the fortress.

Terror erupted suddenly in the pit of Kel's stomach. Though she'd faced death before, in battle, this was somehow much, much worse. Perhaps it was the absence of a weapon in her hand, perhaps it was the uncertainty, the helplessness.

"What do we do?" She asked, taking a moment to realise how ludicrous the question was.

Joren's face was calm as he gazed steadily down at her, hand still held out.

"I request the honour of this dance, my lady." He intoned, inclining his head slightly. Kel stared. Joren scowled under her scrutiny.

"You'll learn to dance if it's the last thing you do." He prompted. "Unless you'd rather our last moments are spent in an agony of terror."

'I'd rather not spend my last moments at all, any time soon.' was what Kel wanted to say, but looking into his face, and seeing the same hidden fear reflected back, she simply took the proffered hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"Now then", he said abruptly, taking her hands and guiding them to his shoulder and hip. "You need to stand closer."

Kel took an awkward step forwards, unfamiliar with the proximity required. Joren wrapped her in an easy hold, pressed against him. He stepped and they began to move in an effortless, swaying rhythm.

It wasn't difficult at all, Kel mused, head cradled in the crook of Joren's neck. His head was inclined slightly towards hers, giving and taking silent comfort.

And it _was_ comforting, moving in the square of sunshine, dancing in the dingy cell, ignoring the smells of dirt and blood, the taste of fear…just…being.

The sun brightened suddenly, as a cloud obscuring it drifted, and Kel ground her face into Joren's collar, refusing to admit that the new day had come. He smelt like old leather, like Peachblossom almost. The old horse was too old to go into battle now, someone would have to continue to pay for his retirement, or he would be forgotten.

Their movements slowed, until finally they were simply standing and swaying, clinging to each other. Kel thought that she could remain as she was forever, and the thought made her smile, and she lifted her head to tell Joren.

The door opened, slowly. Kel started and bit her lip as Joren's arms drew back and he stepped away. She hadn't heard the footsteps of the four guards who now filed in, and fanned out in a semicircle around them, crossbows dangling lazily from fingerstips.

A fifth man with a commander's insignia emblazoned on his sleeve stepped forward and locked the door behind him, before turning his grim stare on them.

"This is your final warning." He said, voice thick with a Scanran accent. He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes like bruises standing out on his yellow skin. Kel realised that the King's royal cousin, commander of the fort, was addressing them. She knew his reputation well enough to realise that he would kill them and feel nothing more than slight disappointment, in an instant, if he had to.

"You have refused to answer any questions." A pause, the man looked slightly curious. "Surely you realise that your worth, as soldiers, is not great. We may spare you if you tell us something of value, but we have neither space nor food for extra prisoners."

He thought that they were just soldiers. That she was a man and that they were not worth torturing. She heard Joren's sharp intake of air before the man spoke again.

"Will you answer our questions?"

"No." Joren answered quickly for both of them.

"You know what will happen to you?" The commander asked, looking at Kel alone now. He signalled swiftly at the soldiers who raised, aimed and cocked their crossbows in a single fluid movement. The habit of years guided her, smoothing her face out into an impassive expression.

"Yes." She replied, tone level, no break.

"Even peasants know something. A rumour. Anything?" The commander pointed out, slightly exasperated.

"We don't." Joren replied firmly.

The commander looked them over, his face impassive. He noted their immovable expressions and sighed, nodded once at the soldiers, as if disappointed.

In an instant, Joren's hand swung up to meet Kel's and they clenched together, moulded with the sweat of terror, and then the world went black in a whirl of old leather and blood.

Fin

* * *

_There it is, make of it what you will. Feedback of any sort appreciated._


End file.
